


God Hit Me Straight On.

by The_Message_Man



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: (partially), Angry Sex, Bad Decisions, Car jacking?, Coming In Pants, Coming Out, Computer Hacking, Damn, Guns, Hacking, Homophobic Language, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I mean, I might change the summary, I've got darker ones, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Real Events, It might just be the darkest fanfiction I've ever written, Leather Jackets, M/M, On the Run, Oops, Psychopaths In Love, Set it ablaze Joshua, Sex in a Car, Sex on a Car, Smut, There's obviously love in their relationship, This gets heavy bro, Tracker device, Weapons, but they're still murderers, i guess, murder?, pretty much in the first chapter, sin - Freeform, wait no
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 13:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Message_Man/pseuds/The_Message_Man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ladder hit against the side of the house with a clack. Josh climbed up, opened the window pane and eyed Tyler. Sleeping, snoring and tumbling before he fell off the bed and awoke.</p><p>''Josh, what are you doing?"</p><p>''Let's run away." His voice was firm, serious and not to be taken lightly. </p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"I've got a reason for everything, just trust me." He assures to Tyler skeptical stare. Tan skin reflects with the hazy moonlight.</p><p>''I'll go get ready."</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Hit Me Straight On.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying, I'm trying to sleep.
> 
> But I can't and I won't because I've got…
> 
> INSOMNIA, YEAH!
> 
> Another sleep driven shitpost.

"You never know what life is gonna throw at you until it does throw something at you and that something hits you straight in the face. You lose a tooth, get a black eye, maybe a concussion and then life just retrieves the ball and throws again." Tyler explained to the class. His teacher came around, placed a gold star on his paper and sat at the desk again. Tyler's rolled his eyes and blew a hair from his face when he noticed Josh staring from across the room. He blushed, waved a hand and turned to his teacher, well aware that Josh was still staring. The bell rang loudly, sending his classmates flying out the room.

 

Josh waited behind the door and shouted 'BOO!' when Tyler's exited the class, scaring the brunet and causing him to drop his books.

 

"Thanks." Tyler's smiled as he collected his books from the ground and beamed when Josh placed a kiss on his forehead.

 

"I think my mom's got a business meeting, which means you can come over...." Josh raised an eyebrow and gave Tyler's a smirk. He took Tyler's hand and held it all the way down the hall to their lockers. "I don't understand why don't just tell her? Coming out would be a lot easier, especially since you know she's okay with it." They fumbled with the locks before Tyler's got his combination and Josh kicked a dent into his, allowing the locker door to pop out. "Why are we always sneaking around like this?" Tyler's snatched his backpack from the hook and hastily shoved his things inside.

 

"Well, my mom's got that mentality that everyone's kid can be gay….just not her kid and it's not easy knowing that she'll secretly be judging me on the sidelines." Josh adjusted the backpack strap and slung it around his shoulder. He took Tyler's backpack from the floor and held Tyler's hand down the stairs and out to his motorcycle in the parking lot. 

 

"And your dad?"

 

"He wants to vote for Donald Trump." Josh deadpans, crossed arms leaning against the wall.

 

"What the fuck?"

 

"…my parents are crazy." Tyler clung to Josh as he drove the motorcycle, flying down the road, hands clutched on the handles and feet gripped on the foot bar.

 

"Don't you think this is a bit dangerous?" Tyler's spoke over the rumbling of the motorcycle as if slowed down down the curved and pulled into the neighborhood.

 

''What? The motorcycle?"

 

''Yes. Isn't it a bit…..?" Tyler's didn't finish the sentence before Josh took off his helmet, admired the messy brunet helmet hair and dipped him into a kiss. ''A bit..'' Tyler's was panting as Josh began sucking a mark on his neck.

 

''Excessive?" Josh laughed, pressing another kiss into Tyler's back and shuffling in his pocket for a condom. He pulled a paper clip from his pocket, twisted it into a heart and pressed it over where Tyler's heart was, feeling it thrum under his hand. He pulled away and tried his other pocket, growling in anger when he couldn't find what he wanted. He shrugged, dipped Tyler's into year another kiss and held him. Stumbling into the house, up the stairs to his bedroom and closing the door. He threw Tyler's down on the bed and crawled on top of him with a sinister smirk. "I love you." He whispered, his words were pure but his thoughts weren't. The thoughts of Tyler's writhing on his fingers, laying under him and over him, screaming his name.

 

''My bad boy loves me." Tyler's smiled as he whispered in Josh's ear. Pressing himself on Josh's already thrusting body.

 

''I'm not a bad boy. I just own a lot of leather jackets and I like wearing black. Look who's talking, You earned your thirteenth detention this week." He joked while he grinded faster.

 

''One of those was your fault."

 

''I wanted to hump you in the janitor's closet. I feel I should be free to do so. Very rude of the janitor to walk in on us. Still, 12 detentions?"

 

''Sixteen, actually." Tyler's voice was strained, getting close to dirtying his jeans. "Can't keep up, can you?" Tyler's laugh melted into a moan when he spilled himself inside his jeans and left a large stain in the crotch area. Josh continued moving, shaking the bed with his thrusts before coming in his pants.

 

He laid atop Tyler's for a while, playing his his brunet hair and peppering his face with kisses. He pulled off his pants, and began pulling off Tyler's shirt when he heard it. The car door slam shut, the key jamming in the lock, his heart stopping, dropping. ''Fuck. Pretend you're studying or something.''

 

''She knows we don't study. _The entire fuckin' town knows we don't study_  and besides, who studies in their underwear?"

 

 _''I study your body in my underwear."_ He winked.

 

''Again, why don't you just tell her?" He watched Josh pace around the room.

 

''I'd die and rather tell her through a ouija board." He almost died when he heard the footsteps coming up the staircase. ''Um….what if you hid in the closet?" Josh pointed to a door on the other side of the room.

 

''Very funny." Tyler's pouted, reluctantly getting up and into the closet. Josh closed the door and enclosed Tyler's in the darkness.

 

''Josh, you won't believe the day I had at work." His mother's voice was loud as she entered the room. "Mr. Kirkland's office got torn down from some type of anger induced asthma attack and then --'' Her eyes shifted over the obvious stain on Josh's boxers. She rolled her and sighed. ''How many times do I have to tell you? Don't masturbate with clothes on, it makes it awkward to do laundry with stains all over your stuff. So as I was saying…" Josh drowned her out and began thinking of what Tyler's had said.

 

_Maybe it's good to come out now? What if she reacts terribly? And with Tyler still here….ugh._

 

His mother finished rambling and left to change into her house clothes. Josh raced back to the closet, Tyler's had fallen asleep in his sweaters. ''Babe, you've gotta get home. Fuck. It's almost 7, your mom is gonna flip when she realizes that you aren't home."

 

He slipped Tyler out the house and reassured his mom he was going to Tyler's house to drop off a book. His mother looked up from her book and stared at Josh, raising an eyebrow.

 

''The book is about knives." Josh choked out, trying to not make it obvious. His mother turned back to her book and Josh started the engine of the motorcycle. ''You know, Tyler, my mother is the only person who will ever put fear into me.'' He shouted over the motorcycle. "Staring daggers into my nonexistent soul….and her name is Laura of all things." Tyler rolls his eyes, smirking.

 

"Nonexistent soul? Come on, sweetheart. Don't be intellectual now." 

 

"Yes, because my thoughts are darker than the color of my natural hair." He rolls his eyes, slowing the motorcycle as he pulls up to Tyler's house. He propped open the window, allowing Tyler to crawl inside. He kissed him goodbye, mumbling something in his ear before closing and letting Tyler do what he does best. 

 

Lie.

 

"Where were you, Tyler?" Echoes through, Tyler grins, faking a halo. 

 

"Tutor session! I'm actually going to try this year." 

 

"Good for you!" She says with utter perkiness, Tyler laughs like the devil when he sees Josh rush off to the motorcycle.

* * *

 

Josh sits on his bed. Polaroids of Tyler, white sunglasses and dopey grin. Tyler's words loom over his mind like lead gallons until he decides to go downstairs and actually heed the brunet's advice, trying and deciding that this will definitely go over well. 

 

It doesn't. 

 

 

“I’m done with you! I’m done with you fooling around, you don’t think I notice the way you look at him?! You don’t think I know your ‘girlfriend’ is a cover-up?” Josh doesn’t meet his father’s eye. Nobody does when he screams like this. “I’m tired. Josh--’’

 

“WELL MAYBE I DON’T GIVE A MOTHERFUCK ABOUT WHAT YOU THINK?”

 

Mr. Dun’s hand raises, comes down sharply and Josh tumbles back. He feels a grin pull at his lip, doesn’t fight back letting it win when he snatches it. His pistol is in his grasp, his mother screams that her husband would shoot his own son. Josh ducks, tumbling on the tile and his mother is shouting. Bullet flees through the wall.

 

“I’m sending you to correction camp, fag.” He spits, not verbally, physically. Spitting on Josh’s body, laying on the ground and Josh wants to throw up. His mother stays back, she’s not remorseful anymore. His father outed him, She doesn’t care about her son. I suppose he’s not her son anymore.

 

“Josh, I’m not sorry. I--I won’t keep you here.” She doesn’t even bother looking at him, instead looking to the bullet torn curtains. Is it wrong to hate your parents? Is it wrong to wish they die a torrid death in that moment?

 

Josh doesn’t think. He wipes spit off his forehead, grimacing with tears filling the brim of his eyes. He retaliates when he wipes the rest on his hem of his mother’s dress, looks into her horrified eyes with his own brown, glassy ones. She gasps, muttering under her breath and calling out for his father again. Josh is ready this time when he whispers ‘Fuck you’ underneath his breath. He sinisterly grins when the V of his shirt is yanked up and he’s terribly slammed against a wall.

 

“I’m sending you to correction camp, _fag._ ” _{Jeez, I almost threw up writing that}_ He spits, not verbally, physically. Spitting on Josh’s body, laying on the ground and Josh wants to throw up. His mother stays back, she’s not remorseful anymore. His father outed him, She doesn’t care about her son. I suppose he’s not her son anymore.

 

“Josh, I’m not sorry. I--I won’t keep you here.” She doesn’t even bother looking at him, instead looking to the bullet torn curtains. Is it wrong to hate your parents? Is it wrong to wish they die a torrid death in that moment?

 

Josh doesn’t think. He wipes spit off his forehead, grimacing with tears filling the brim of his eyes. He retaliates when he wipes the rest on his hem of his mother’s dress, looks into her horrified eyes with his own brown, glassy ones. She gasps, muttering under her breath and calling out for his father again. Josh is ready this time when he whispers ‘Fuck you’ underneath his breath. He sinisterly grins when the V of his shirt is yanked up and he’s terribly slammed against a wall.

 

“I hate you, _fag._ ” 

 

And there it was. The one sentence that made the sweetest boy in the Midwest burst into tears. He wasn't exactly the sweetest boy, he's stabbed a few good men, but Joshua Dun has never cried. Not at funerals, not during the birth of his baby sister, never during a series finale. The crying wouldn’t stop, incoherent screaming and accelerated breathing when he tried.

 

verb

  1. make an attempt or effort to do something.




 

And as the past participle, trying to stop made things worse. Made him cry harder until he was choking on tears and gasping for air. The verbal abuse didn’t hurt. The fact that everything was the opposite hurt. Like words uttered in the pilot of a television show, and uttered once more in the series finale. The last words of a show, leaving you empty after they’re said.

 

Josh’s first clear memory, explicit like the light of day. _“Look at him, Laura. Look at how beautiful he is. So perfect he is.”_ When the baby giggles, his mother smiles sweetly and takes a polaroid photo. _“How’d we get blessed with him?”_ His father poked Josh’s cheek with his thumb, a small pout in response but he was so fucking happy to be there. So fucking happy to look at the bright sun outside, glinting through the windows. The baby blue and painted clouds on the canvas walls. Elegantly perfect. But he cries. Cries because he’s a baby. Cries because he presumably wants apple sauce. Cries but is still able to hear his father’s cooing, the quiet _‘shh’_ and _“Oh gosh, I love you, son.”_

 

Josh cries. The series finale approaches, the other way around. It burns when he hears it. _“Look at him, Laura. Look at how ugly he is. How gay he is. Why did Jesus give him to us of all people?”_ He snickers instead of hushes, but the next words are blaring in Josh’s ears. Blaring in his skull like the worst of all headaches. _“Good god, I hate you, fag.”_

* * *

 

Round the hills, the torrent rain. Dark, black, bleak, gray clouds roll in. They’re different from nursery clouds, nursery clouds are a representation of hope. Josh’s plethora of memories include those clouds. Patty cake is done, shadows burned. The ride is nothing short of depressing. Car once held family sing-alongs, cheerios thrown in a playful battle between siblings. Soccer teams, time they took on their ride, questions about joining school teams though Josh cared for nothing of the sort.

 

He parks the car affront Tyler's house. He darts across the dying grass on the lawn, pulling up a ladder. The ladder hit against the side of the house with a clack. Josh climbed up, opened the window pane and eyed Tyler. Sleeping, snoring and tumbling before he fell off the bed and awoke.

 

''Josh, what are you doing?"

 

''Let's run away." His voice was firm, serious and not to be taken lightly.

 

"Why?"

 

"I've got a reason for everything, just trust me." He assures to Tyler skeptical stare. Tan skin reflects with the hazy moonlight.

 

''I'll go get ready." He turns on a lamp, soft neon glow across the room. Tyler is fairly skeptical, he dismisses. Josh leans against his wall, showing no hesitation to light a cigarette in Tyler's bedroom. Dragging out clouds of hazy dark smoke, Tyler grabs a handful of clothing, shoving it into a Converse bag. He takes a deep breath, not turning around fully, but looking to the side. He doesn't look at the Josh, just the carpet to his left of him. "And what are we going to do about money?"

 

"Remember that course I took on hacking?" He speaks through the cigarette between his lips.

 

"You fucking stole money?"

 

"No. I  _borrowed_ it with no intention to give it back." He shrugs. Tyler feels ice sprawl up his frail spine. He rolls his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know a nice place we can go, raise lots of cats and grow old together." He smiles warmly. "Come on, let's go." The feeling eases up on Tyler's abdomen, he takes a deep breath, knowing things are going to be fine. He's got Josh. He's got no reason to worry. Right?

 

Tyler has no reason to worry. But Josh does. He's expecting Tyler to talk him down, tell him 'no'. If there's no anchor, then the ship goes off. Tyler was Josh's anchor, but the anchor isn't useful if it's on the boat and has no intention of stabilizing. 

 

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes for you! Oh god, I had to swallow every single ounce in my body because it felt so gross to write ‘fag’. Jesus fucking Christ if there’s one word I will never, EVER say, it’s definitely that one. 
> 
> Which is why I’ll try to use an alternative for the duration of the story because, just--oh my god. No. I pretty much threw up in my mouth when I typed it. It was so fucking gross. 
> 
> In Semi-Automatic, when he says ‘I’m never what I like, I’m double sided.’ did you ever think he was hinting to Blurryface?


End file.
